Use Well The Days
by WolfAngel'JR
Summary: Part of my BCJ fic series. Barty Crouch Jr. and Sirius Black are in the same 'sadistic' detention and end up finding something in common. NOT SLASH! Most of the fic focuses on the Crouch family.
1. 1: Worse Than Each Other

******Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter world or any of it's characters, but they belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Warnings: **Mild language. Mild violence.**  
****Author(s):** WolfAngel'JR. And in the first chapter also a friend of mine. This particular thing is written by me but the first chapter includes many direct quotes from her, for Sirius. I have her permission to publish this.  
******Chapters:** Three. (3.) The last two do not base on any game topic anymore and so are completely written by me and are all about the Crouch family.******  
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**A/N **My Junior's looks come from the actor Jamie Bell, Seniot's from the director Thomas Vinterberg and Mrs, and Mrs. Crouch's from the actor Michelle Pfeiffer. **A/N**

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**Use well the days**

Chapter 1.

Crusty-looking Sirius Black walked towards the boys's toilet, carrying a bucket including some soap, a towel and a scrubbing-brush. Of course he was used to detentions but this time he had to suffer some kind of a punishment made up by several teachers. They apparently had got fed up keeping him and James or one of the duo in detention and had now punished him for numerous offenses at once.

_'You wash the boys's toilet's floor and you wash it good. And no use of magic is allowed, you'll do it by your own hands. We're gonna find out if you've used some magic or shirked in any way, and then you'll have to do it all over again. So better just humble yourself now and do it well, Mr. Black. While you wash the floor, you can give a good thought to if you should have tormented all those fellow students and turned them into a crossbreeding of different animals...'_ Those words still echoed in Sirius's head when he reached the toilet. His mind also played an image of Snivellus and other Slytherins' expressions should they see him now. He was also haunted by Remus's words, Sirius could so lively hear how he would now say something like _"I told you so, Sirius…You shouldn't have...You're only get trouble…"_ The extremely ill-humoured marauder furiously pushed the door open, stepped inside, closed the door behind himself and dropped the bucket on the floor. Looking around he saw right away that this wouldn't be a small task. By worst he'd be here until the morning light. Mindless sadism! False hope to think that this would make any positive influence, but exactly the opposite, he would break rules all the more, as a revenge for this humiliation. This would give all the more energy to him in his offenses with the Marauders. He picked the bucket up again. Suppose it's better start right away if wishing to get out some time. A small comfort was that no one was witnessing this state of abasement. This was so embarassing. Sirius rolled up his sleeves and brushed his hair off his eyes. Yep, a good old muggle cleaning man, soon on that floor on his knees with a scrubbing-brush.

The same toilet was approached by a younger boy – but he either wasn't jumping of joy, and it was unlikely that seeing Sirius would change the matter. The boy only knew he'd spend the detention with "Mr. Black'. Barty Crouch Junior approached the toilet and his sentence seemed to be the same as the previous case's – seeing to the bucket, towel and a scrubbing-brush. To him muggle type of work was nothing new but his ill-humoured state of mind was fired up by the fact that this detention would not be all there was to his sufferings. He tried to think of what Dumbledore might have written in that damned letter. How much Dumbledore even knew? At least the fact that he had studied dark magic all year – in which itself of course was nothing special or strange, seeing to his his father's line against Voldemort, but the thing was that he hadn't kept to books available to everyone or studied only on his spare time. And the rumours told that he had practiced them on at least two innocent younger students without any provoking. They were true but of course he had denied them the best he could. The rumours themselves hadn't yet cause him trouble, but after Filch had revealed couple of his observation of which the boy had had no clue, the teachers had decided to dig into everything.

It must have been really hard to believe. The Gryffendor son of the Crouch family – suspicious hobbies could not be possible. A possibility of Sirius Black having talked to someone after all, crossed Barty's mind. Walking on, he muttered unprintable things while his thoughts wandered back to an incident from couple of weeks earlier.

_'Have it your way, Crouch. If you want to play, let's play then. For your information, I'm not going to give up on this matter. You can deny what you're doing just as long as you wish, but I'm going to find out. I have never even said that if you told me what you're up to, I would use the information in any way. I simply want to know. Feel free to curse me right here, stupefy or whatever, but still I'm gonna find out. Or, of course you can throw me down these stairs and escape into the castle - yeah, that would be so very brave. No doubt typical for your cowardly nature, but useless. You see, I'm not going to give up.'_

It had begun from a quite normal but still a bit strange situation. Black had stuck his nose into his business, asking him to let go the rat on which he had been practicing transfiguration, because it might have been his pet. By some twisted way it had ended up into each others's nightly sneaking. After the crap had gone on for minutes with increasingly arrogant comments, from both of them, but still, Barty's patience had ended. It had lead him half accidently to give a practical answer to Mr. Black's curiosity – boiling his blood in the middle of afternoon and front yard. At least it had been one of the least dark ones he'd been learning. Regardless of the incident possibly being one reason for the current situation, he couldn't help but grin – Bkack had stuck his nose into businesses that were none of his and spoken as if he knew all about, though in truth knew absolutely nothing about him or his personality.

The memory was sweet but he was angrier by the moment. He couldn't deny he was partly to blame in any case – he still hadn't learnt self-control in such situations related to things he really didn't need too many people to know about. And he had had other plans for tonight. Of course he would've used magic to pass the detention quicker even though it was not allowed, but naturally Dumbledore had wanted to confiscate his wand, and he wouldn't get it back until the summer vacation begins. Out-counting the durations of transfiguration and charms classes of course. And he would get to have it full time at school only if he brought a note signed by his father, that it was ok. In other words – he was pretty sure - unless he'd manage to borrow other people's wands, he could kiss magic goodbye until the graduation day. For three years! It seemed like an eternity even to a wizard used to a muggle style living. He had to come up with a good way to tell his side of the story. He was a bad liar, really sucked at it, but then again it wasn't even his intention now – but the problem was that even truth had difficulties when it came to his father understanding. And the truth was that his motives were not as dark as it must seem by the first impression. And as if his father's reaction wasn't enough to stress about, he couldn't help but think of his mother who most likely wouldn't get any better by such news. Barty Junior had said he'd scrub both toilets's floors every day for the rest of the semester if only the headmaster didn't write anything to his folks He had really meant it and it must have shown but still Dumbledore had done it.

He reached the toilet door and kicked it open, dramatically and loudly, and as loudly threw in the bucket and other stuff, and followed himself, glaring around, having one more second to hope that 'Mr. Black' meant Regulus but of course not.

Sirius, who had just begun filling his bucket with water and sunk into deep and ill-humoured thoughts and longing for James's company, was startled by the loud bang of the door and took couple of paces backwards. Instinctively his hand reached for his wand, but oh yeah…it wasn't there.

What? Crouch! Of all the students in the school it had to be Crouch! By the cleaning implements thrown on the floor, he came to the conclusion they had been assigned to do this together. The poor Marauder hadn't had the slightest idea of someone else sharing the detention. Perfect, just perfect… Just when he'd thought this couldn't get worse, wasn't that weirdo in the same room, soon enough scrubbing the floor with him.

Sirius's first reaction was pure anger and endless irritation, but when he looked around the toilet, at himself, Crouch, and the muggles' cleaning implements, he burst into a laughter coloured with desperation, gloom and black humour.

Barty just stared at him with fed-up expression.

"Great. This is promising..."

After glancing at his cleaning implements he began to think it really might be promising..

Of the expression Sirius drew a conclusion that Crouch's sense of humour was hanging somewhere around the seventh dimension, and this situation didn't truly much humour him either, and that combination in the end was unbelievably comical, in some sick way.

"Well, well… Greetings", Sirius said amongst his laughter and shut the water tap, grabbing the filled bucket and put it on the floor. "Ta-daa!", he then exclaimed, doing a theatrical gesture with his hand, a wide fake-smile painted on his face. "I guess it's time TO SCRUB THE FLOOR!"

Barty was watching the act, expressionless.

He walked to his cleaning implements, gathered them together and against the wall sat down on the sink table and took as relaxed position as possible, which wasn't too easy for the room was very limited regardless of the few sinks.

He stretched and crossed his legs over one of the sinks and dug a chocolate frog from the pocket of his jeans.

"Yeah. go ahead. Since you're so eager to begin, you'll get the honour. I may consider joining you at some point.", he stated calmly and opened some of the buttons in his shirt, to feel as relaxed as possible, as he couldn't leave the room too soon.

Now that he had a chance – he wouldn't sweat at scrubbing a floor at least until it would be clean enough from Black's working on it. If they thought, that after all the consequences he'd already had, he'd also do something like that, they sure had lost their minds.

Sirius raised his eyebrows with mixture of disbelief and surprise as he silently watched Crouch, who obviosuly had no intentions in doing anything even related to the assignment. Once again little mister Crouch was about to get away with avoiding this and do it in so infuriating and selfishly arrogant way, that it was utterly unendurable. Rage begun to take over Sirius's mind in an uncontrollable way, like those couple of weeks ago on the stairs. That Crouch had an extraordinary ability to get this animagus on the verge of an over-whelming rage fit.

Just a moment ago he had believed that scrubbing a toilet floor in muggle way could not piss him off any worse but how wrong can one be! But because a wand was not available there was no sense in attacking. Also, Sirius knew that no mental humiliation would be any use and so no sense in wasting time and energy on such.

He'd have to find another tactic but it required first calming down. Sirius gave a deep sigh, forced some kind of a smile on his face, and then without a word, moved his bucket and other implements on the floor, taking a spot couple of metres away from Crouch. He knelt on the floor and mixed soap and water (_"It does go like this? This is how the muggles do this? Whatever..."_), soaked the brush in the water and began to scrub the floor.

_'The faster I suffer and do this, the faster I get out...'_ Sirius repeated that in his mind over and over again like some sacred mantra, to hold on to his self-control and to endure better the humiliation.

He scrubbed the floor with the brush and soap as fast but as carefully as he could, because he certainly was not going to do it all again. They could not make him, already this was way too much for his pride. And of course after this – so Sirius thought – that Crouch would, awfully pleased, spread exaggerated stories about how "Black scrubbed the toilet floor on his knees while I ate chocolate frogs and enjoyed every second." But Crouch couldn't possibly have the patience to just sit there through this, without doing anything? Could he? Surely he would soon get tired of waiting and want to get out faster and would help? Right? Sirius wasn't sure at all. Maybe if he behaved as stressful as he knew how to, Crouch would hope to get away and so help… maybe..

Barty took something from his jeans's pocket and begun to read it, munching away another chocolate frog. But he felt the desire to enjoy the scene and glanced at Sirius working, hoping he'd have a camera, even a pocket size and disposable would do. Sirius checked from the corner of his eye what Crouch took from his pocket. Not a wand, thank God, but... what's that? _Uncle Scrooge!_ He really felt like mouthing off… Keeping the insults in was downright painful. Of course Crouch was reading only to annoy and provoke the situation, so Sirius controlled himself, though it truly was a challenge. Son of the famous and powerful Bartemius Crouch Sr. isn't reading law books or Hogwarts: a History, but Uncle Scrooge! Some muggles' comic book where half naked ducks run around without pants! Just in time Sirius managed to disguise his burst of laughter as some sort of a cough. Or the magazine was just disguised as a comic book and in fact included something completely different, you never know.

"It's recommendable to start from the furthest corner and move towards the door...", Barty stated. sounding finally good-humoured, behind his magazine.

Not that he'd have done that work much but he knew enough, having many muggle friends and having been raised very much with muggle methods.

"Thank you for your kind advice, but I start from here, I know what I'm doing", Sirius said, when he had finally got his face just about serious again.

"Oh, gee, oopsie", he then said, when some soap water "accidentally" flew off the brush, on Crouch's shirt. "Sorry."

"Never mind. That can happen", Barty stated in serene tone, for the 'accident' was an obvious provoking attempt and he wasn't that easily annoyed.

Sirius however pondered how much mental effort it took for Crouch to take it that calmly. Must have been hard. Hopefully really, really hard. It was also harder by the moment, for Sirius himself to endure that Crouch was showing no signs what-so-ever, of bothering to do absolutely anything while they were there. Was probably going to sit there until the end. And he was sure that even if he told about it to Dumbledore later, it would be no use, Crouch would surely wiggle his way out of it and accuse him of lying and probably even succeed. Besides, telling on people didn't suit a Marauder anyway. They would rather use some other method to get a message through.

So, Sirius continued working, trying to look as neutral as possible, yet to be a bit more annoying, he began to sing the most annoying work song he could think of, so loudly that the toilet echoed, and he whistled the tune, hardly able to stay serious.

"Please, go on, and someone will surely come and witness your state of abasement", Barty grinned behind his comic book, until finally threw it into one of the sinks and focused on eating his candy.

"Well, if someone did happen to come around, it really wouldn't bother me. No doubt the one, who's in a state of abasement is you and not me", Sirius said calmly and overly good-humoured.

"Let them come, even the entire school, at least we'd see if you in that situation would still dare to just sit there doing nothing except reading your indecent duck magazine. Yes, I do know that there's half naked ducks in that magazine! Well, I won't adjudge, we all have our taste.."

Sirius grinned to himself while he turned his face away from Crouch as he washed the floor.

Barty dismissed it all with an amused snort, but then the marauder continued, half to himself but out loud.

"On the other hand, would it not be a scandal if someone saw the Crouch family's son on his knees on the floor with a scrubbing-brush. The Daily Prophet would probably make a headline or two out of it, not to mention other kind of papers. And you probably aren't used to get your hands dirty. Or do anything without a wand. You must be lost, poor kid, when at home everything's surely done for you. You probably wouldn't know how to do this even if you tried. Spoiled...", Sirius ranted on, but cut off when he remembered he was supposed to act as if he didn't mind the situation the least bit.

Barty only raised his eyebrows at the Daily Prophet talk. Unlikely such headlines would be, for the quality of the paper would've alarmingly sunk if a detention of a school boy was any news – no matter how famous his father was. But no matter, for the rest of Black's rant had crossed some line. If his family life was more normal, he might have dismissed it all as if he didn't even hear them, but in the light of the accurate, he had sometimes pondered would he be happier if things really were that way. That combined to the true situation and the tone in which Sirius has said his assumptions, was enough to stir a spark of anger inside him.

It was quite impossible to even make believe to be helpless and spoiled, even as the only child of a rich family, if mother was deathly ill and spent most of her time in hospital, and father was in love with his work and codes. Especially as the first mentioned had cast a shadow over the family for the past few years and caused several crises. Of course Winky did most of the bigger house work but he had never been able to avoid responsibilities – in any case, not to mention offenses, which he had always done more than enough. Well, the mother had let him get away with anything and probably would let him get away with a murder, and to her attitudes Sirius's words seemed to just about fit – but the father had always quite well balanced the matters and so the raising and family life had been somewhat inconsistent. And he had had to grow up independent for neither of the parents had been much there for the latest three years.

The soap water had been a ridiculous and desperate provoke attempt, but this – even though ignorant ranting – went too far.

Now Crouch did have much difficulties to keep from jumping on the floor and try to drown Sirius Black into his bucket of dirty water. It may have shown even though the boy tried to remain cool and calm as well as he possibly could. If his sense of humour had been around other dimensions at the beginning, it had now ceased to exsist. Barty drew a breath, coughed quietly as if about to say something but only picked up the Uncle Scrooge again and begun to page through it again.

He didn't consider Black worth of helping or getting mad at. But already while speaking Sirius couldn't help but notice from the corner of his eye that his words had affected Crouch more than any other ones before. And he pondered if he should just let it go or fuel up the fire? After all Crouch had some time ago pulled quite an ugly trick on him. Some words were nothing compared to it.

Sirius noticed the bucket was empty and got up, walked to one of the taps next to Crouch and started to draw water into the bucket. While waiting for it to get filled, he leaned on the wall, letting his arms rest and kept an eyer on Crouch, who was still hidden behind his magazine. Strange, really unusual that Crouch didn't say anything on such comments.

"Tell me", Sirius said, directing his words more at the roof that at Crouch, who looked at him over the magazine.

"What is your life like in the Crouch Paradise? How many personal house elves do you have? Must be wonderful, when everything's so smooth and done for you. Your mother of course makes a fuss of you all day long, as she doesn't work, right? And here at school, you surely can do anything you please, when in the end daddy is around to explain everything for the better and hush it down, so that the family name won't get stained? Wow, your life must be easy. Meh, I could almost think myself envying you, if you didn't happen to be an arrogant and spoiled idiot, who apparently can't do anything without a wand. How sad.."

Actually Sirius didn't even know why he said all that, for Crouch hadn't provoked him to say any of that. Somewhere inside, though Sirius didn't want to admit it even to himself, he knew that the words sprung from his own, suppressed hate and bitterness for his own family and especially for his mother.

Barty, while listening to that crap, couldn't help but think of a certain woman, who seemed to love her job even more than Crouch Sr,, and that would be utterly unhealthy level..

"Rita Skeeter must be your favorite reporter, hm?", he finally stated, appearing very tense and tried to restrain himself from doing something really stupid - again. He didn't bother to comment on the wand matter, to reveal that in their family magic was used only occasionally – exactly so that he would've grown up appreciating it, but not think of it as any prime meaning of life and would learn to do things like normal people do – that Sirius most certainly knew less muggle ways and used more wand than he – besides, he didn't have the permission to use magic outside the school, anymore than anyone else. Of course it was clear to him why Sirius probably imagined it to be the other way.. Everything else was now on top of Barty's mind.

"First of all, we have only one house elf, who pretty much only obeys my dad. May be because she was in the house before I", he snorted and thinking of it at least one personal house elf sounded great.

But the image mattered no more when he remembered what the imbecile had assumed next. He begun to feel nauseated. He hadn't discussed any of it even with his father and now to some almost-enemy he should tell? Not in this life, if he could decide.

The loathing the situation caused covered amazingly well the pain the matter itself caused, seeing to that he had spent most of his time with his mother, until a certain workholic had stayed home more at one point – though only because his wife was no more able to look after their child, which was more than a regular challenge with his spirited nature, to which had been added increasing rebelious behavior as he had found it a good way to draw daddy's attention off of work stuff. He had focused on enjoying the presence and attention of both of his parents, but couldn't help feeling his father loved mother more since staying home even the usual standard much of a normal family, took an illness of the mother.

"And yes, that's right!", he admitted, deliberately making his tone sound like Sirius was right through and through. Though the only truth was that Mrs. Crouch did not have a job.

"She doesn't work – hasn't worked for three years! Just think about it!", he snapped, throwing the magazine at Sirius's face, who threw it on the floor, quite touchily.

"Maybe she has her reasons", Barty almost spat out, the cold smile creeping on his face, putting an emphasize on the almost murderous look in his blueish-gray eyes.

The part about him being allowed to do anything he pleases because of "daddy hushing things down" brought the damned letter to his mind. The paradox had him give an amused and quiet laugh somewhat straight from the heart.

"And oh yes, my father's a wonderful person when he actually remembers to live his life instead of work through it", he stated, clearly meaning it as his voice and eyes had turned lighter for the moment.

"But never in his wildest dreams would he let me get away should I do anything forbidden or stupid – and in fact I'd do nothing rather than go home with collected explanations about couple of things before he makes up God knows what images about my future and to avoid it comes up with something he supposes working. He's not explaining anyone or anything, especially if it's about the family name. He's ambitious to almost an obsessive degree and does it in any way but hushing", he continued, the cold smile stuck on his face, but he was tired of just sitting there, so dropped himself on the floor.

In their family such problems had never been covered up but tried to solve as seen best no matter what or how long it took. Junior had long ago come to see, that he never beat his father in a battle of wills, even as stubborn as he was, and learnt to reckon when better remember the thing called respect for parents, if wishing to avoid a whipping or being grounded for an eternity of something like that. He had never been treated by his official age, but by whatever age he acted like at a situation in question and he had thought of it fair enough. Neither of the men in the Crouch family understood enough of each others ways of thinking, though the younger one did see that the road pointed by the older was ok – but the teenage years of a child usually aren't the easiest time for a family and parents usually are there for each other then. And just then, the mother had to get ill for good. Sirius's version of his family didn't really sound that tempting in the deepest, but relatively better than almost constant conflict and misunderstanding.

Sirius did listen to this minor shedding with a lot of interest but for some reason, didn't believe a word. Everyone's own problems were always bigger, so Crouch's tiny little problems were more of an entertainment.

"So tell me _more_ of your opinions on the joy of 'the Crouch Paradise', you might become even better storyteller than Skeeter", Barty stated in rather poisonous tone, as he had walked close to Sirius and slapped his forehead quite violently.

Which was too much for Sirius. Reflex-like he pushed Crouch hard by the shoulders, away from himself, with both hands.

"Hands off me!", he said louder than he even realized himself.

Junior's irritations turned back into loathing which oozed from the way he looked at Sirius..

"Anyway, how about getting back to the work you were so excited about." Of course he had seen the theatrical purpose of it but it still was more enthusiastic attitude than his own had been at any point.

"For surely it's a beautiful sight too, the offspring of the noble and ancient Black family, obediently crawling on all fours around the school toilet ...", he then stated right away, picking the full bucket out of the sink and pushed it into Sirius's arms so that some of the water spilled on him.

'Noble' of course had been deliberate provoking, for as little as Junior cared about the life of the Black family, he did know, that the word in question wasn't too suiting.

For a second Sirius stared at Crouch, his black eyes full of rage and without knowing why, flung the bucket on the floor with such a force, that the noise echoed all around and water splashed all around, on both of them and on the walls.

"Shut up!", the marauder raved. "SHUT UP! OKAY, I don't know a damn thing about your family or why your mother doesn't bother to do anything or why your dear father didn¨t play with you enough when you were little! Oh boo-hoo! But you know no more about me or my family! So SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Sirius looked at Crouch on the verge of even worse rage fit and didn't know what to do, couldn't decide where to hit and how hard or what else to throw around. He didn't see the irony, that he and Crouch had just found something in common. Actually, he didn't see the matter at all. And in that state of mind he didn't have the slightest clue about, how he had just served his vulnerable side for Crouch on a silver plate.

Barty took it immediately – even though he did see the irony, he was not an exception in the way of how one's own problems were always bigger than other people's and Sirius had just out loud understated his – though little had he even revealed on them. Glancing at the flooding floor, he spoke again.

"Well, well… Aren't you a sensitive case…", he stated, grinning with satisfaction, but keeping a cautious eye on Sirius, who had reacted rather strongly on relatively little provoking.

He gave the first theory that popped in his mind – that's what Sirius had been done all along – when it came to a pure-blood family and even so ancient, even though he reckoned, that it most likely was nowhere near accurate.

"Maybe you worship your family more than life itself, getting that upset, when staining it's imago is brought up...", he spoke calmly, leaning on the wall next to his still untouched cleaning implements.

"Is that raving advisable either, hm? What would you mother say, if she saw you in this every way very pathetic state...", he carried on, while checking his nails as if he couldn't care less about how the other would react to anything anymore.

If Barty was right – if Sirius really cared about his family more than about his life, he couldn't endure his mockery even as much as he had so far. But as it is, that was so utter lie that Sirius burst into a bitter laughter..

"Yes! I worship my family. Why wouldn't I? After all they worship me too! Especially my mother. She loves me, and oh, how I do love her. Though of course even she isn't perfect. She has, and my family all in all, a few little flaws."

Unaware of it, Sirius began walking back and forth on the wet floor as he explained things, again not looking anywhere but his own feet. He had to get some sense into Crouch's delusions. Had to explain somehow. And that idiot would have to listen.

"Yes, you see a) my mother is insane. b) she wants dead everyone who doesn't please her, which includes just about everyone. c) she has her house elves killed, when they are too old to carry a tray. d) she is so sick manipulator, that she has managed to have the house elves wish for their own execution. e) she doesn't want me in her house and never calls me by my name. She addresses me with sweet nicknames, such as Blood traitor, Shame of flesh and Filth. f) she wants me dead, and would kill me, if I didn't happen to be a pureblood Black f) for that reason I'm not interested in going to my own home. g) or rather, for that reason I don't have a place to call home. h) just about my entire kin wants me dead. i) I HATE my family. j) I HATE my mother. k) I HATE THEM ALL and I hate that I belong to that sick family!"

Sirius stopped and only then noticed he had paced back and forth and that he had been yelling again. However it had been in a way relieving to say all that out loud. Now, all that we needed was if Crouch thought that he was begging for some pity points, which was as far from the truth as anything can possibly get. Rage however had lessened from what it was earlier. The Marauder sighed and forced some kind of a fake smile on his face, picked up his bucket and went to refill it.

And Barty couldn't come up with anything to say, for that was nothing like what he'd have expected even with the knowledge on the Black family. A minute earlier he wouldn't have believed he'd actually get interested in the life of someone he rather loathed. Sirius spoke again.

"And by the way, I can tell, that my mother appreciates your family's pure blood very much, but unfortunately she doesn't like the way, in which your father throws her heroes and friends into Azkaban." Sirius raised his eyes from the bucket to Crouch with a gloomy grin, and for less than a second his smile was genuine. Something similiar could be seen on Junior's face too, for after thinking a while, he had to admit to himself that Sirius Black's problems _were_ relatively taken bigger than his. At least his family didn't despise him, not to mention want him dead. His family was only on it's way to the first mentioned but of that he had not the slightest idea yet. He either didn't feel like he had a place to call home but in the light of this, it felt at least remotely like a home.

"By the way, what does your mother do, if not work? Of course showing off in snobby parties, taking care of relationships, showing off about how her sweet, darling little Barty goes to school with such a great success and how ittybitty-Barty would some day step into his father's respected shoes?"

By asking that Sirius hoped to get Crouch's thoughts away from the Black family. He was tired of hearing insults about it. Besides, to some degree Sirius too was interested in hearing more about the Crouch Paradise.

Junior's thoughtful expression again turned into more irritated one and the feeling of sickness was returning, but he didn't let it show. He glared at Sirius though not in as ugly way as before and decided to tell more – Sirius had after all made his assumptions in a little less inappropriate tone, though really only a little.

"First off, I could never be a judge and they both know it better than well. I do plan to take a job at the Ministry because there is many interesting ones but that's all", he answered dryly to the last assumption. Another reason for the plan was that he'd get to see his father more but he didn't feel any need to say that.

A heavy silence fell into the room while Barty stared at the door pondering if he should just walk out of it and leave Black here even if it took him all night. Which may have been better and spared both teens from a lot of pain. During the silence Sirius gathered himself enought to be able to carry on the washing of the floor. He lifted the bucket on the floor just about next to the sink, and stood there trying to gather will power to get on his knees again. Standing there, staring with glassy eyes, at the brush turning around in the water, he was prepared to listen to Crouch's answer to those provoking words,with only half of his attention. Unlikely there would be anything but defending of a snobby mother or insults or both, which topics weren't too interesting to hear.

"If you really believe in your critic on my mother, you may as well go to Mungo and tell it to her. She's been spending most of her time there for the past three years in pain more or less", Crouch finally answered in an icy tone, his eyes on the door, but something completely different than the loathing he felt for Sirius, was creeping into his voice.

Sirius's first theory was, of course, that they had made the kid lie in order to protect some worse sort of a family secret, but glancing at Crouch's face, he saw on it, for the first time, something undisguised. So his mother really was ill, and apparently very ill, if she'd spent many years in Mungo. Sirius let go off the brush, straightened his back, but was still sitting on the floor on his knees.

"Hurry! You may still make it in time. After all they have reckoned she'll live for a few more years, but they are just assumptions! I can explain your noble intentions to Dumbledore, if he wonders where you disappeared to in the middle of your detention!", Even he noticed himself yelling when the matter had truly begun to torment him, and any passer-by would certainly hear. But as he flung the door open, fortunately no one was there.

Utterly surprised Sirius watched Crouch as he'd begun to raise his voice just like he himself had moments earlier. Sirius didn't register the accusations and the encouragements to run out of the door, in fact he didn't even really listen, while he tried to take some kind of a view on what he had just heard.

"Or maybe Mr. Filth wants to carry on his work, the crawling on the filthy floor. Suits you so well. So I guess the mother knows her child..." He knew he was being unfair – Sirius could not possibly have even guessed anything like this, especially in their original situation – but in his opinion, Sirius's assumptions in themselves could already be seen as offensive, and the more he tried to deal with his mother's condition in his mind not to mention talking about it – the more it hurt, and there was no room for being reasonable.

"Shut the door and stop that dramatic swinging! It doesn't quite suit your cooly arrogant nature. And I can also announce at this point, that I have not talked about any of your doings to anyone, not even to James, not yet anyway. I've seen from your face many times today how you've suspected it. I have nothing to do with why you're here. I'm not so suicidal nor so stupid that I'd beg to get into the same room with you."

Barty didn't shut the door, but wasn't able to cut off Sirius's rant even if he wanted to, but only stared at him with tired expression. At this point that information really couldn't have been any more insignificant.

"And also for your information", Sirius continued, grabbing the scrubbing-brush again, and his tone was coloured with growing but held-back anger, "that I'll scrub this floor clean even six times if they tell me to, even if you sat there doing nothing during all those six times, and if you read and ate and slept there all the time and even if you insulted me every second of your awake time. I'm still saying, I was serious with what I said about my mother. _Do not mention her._ You shut your mouth about her, how many times does it have to be said to get it in your little head!"

During the last two lines Sirius looked from the bucket up to Crouch with nothing in his eyes but disgust and indignation. The feeling deeper inside however, was somehow different, an unpleasent mixture of irritation and yet… empathy. It was a feeling he didn't know how to deal with. Sirius decided to carry on his work in order to direct his thoughts elsewhere.

"I'm sorry about your mother", he then said quietly, his eyes on the floor, almost hoping that Crouch didn't hear. The words just came from somewhere, by half accident.

The last bits of Junior's motives to continue about the Black family were lost, for he did hear. It was then that he realized he was still keeping the door open, let go and let it shut.

"Whatever...", he stated very quietly to himself, returning to the sinks, but no more sat on them, but only leaned on the wall with his hands in his pockets, partly glaring at Sirius but mostly just looking at him. He had gone for impassive tone, but it had clearly showed some gratitude for the showing of empathy regardless of all that had been said and done.

As the door shut and Sirius heard it, he turned to look at it, for a short moment absolutely sure of that Crouch had left. It wouldn't surprise him at all, in fact it was a little miracle that that triumph of shirking had been here for so long. And hey, he still wasn't going anywhere. This was getting weirder by the moment, but not letting it distract himself any more, Siriius carried on scrubbing the floor.

Barty still had the same questions about the Black family but he chose to leave them unsaid, that much he owed Sirius, as well as taking a more appropriate attitude towards him.

"Who gave you this sadistic punishment and for what clowning this time?", he asked, his voice sounding rather neutral .Sirius couldn't help having difficulties in keeping a poker face, He just thought slightly comical that almost humane and in other ways rather normal tone of voice had come from Crouch, though 'for what clowning this time' at least was familiar.

"I'm not quite sure myself either... McGonagall saw me to this fate, apparently for a several different reasons, I didn't bother to listen to that lecture, for it has a way of repeating itself every time. Of that list of accusations I remember only a few words, like "irrespinsible behavior", "utterly foolish", "no respect what-so-ever" and "what on earth will become of you". I suppose it had something to do with my using Sniv… Severus Snape as a target of interesting transfigurations and with sneaking by night in places of which exsistance I apparently shouldn't even know."

The Marauder smiled a while for all the events and incidents he had caused with his friends. McGonigall apparently really thought that this would hold some significance, make some difference. Even now Sirius was on all fours, his trousers soaked down from the knees, (the amount of water had increased a lot since that one bucket he had flung on the floor a while back), his knees, arms and back hurting, but no chance that he would here, like this, be humbled or "change his ways", like the teachers so often went on about. No use. The Marauders would never fall, at least one of them had to die before that would happen. And of course he didn't have the slightest idea then, how dreadfully true that would some day come to be.

Sirius stretched his sore back and rubbed his numb wrists. He looked around and then sat on the floor, stretching his legs and leaned backwards on his hands.

"What about you, what foolishness lead you here to spend beautiful, intimate moments with me? Many people would gladly pay for that joy. Is the reason for your detention again in the series oh-so-frightning-information that you can not tell? And guess what. It looks like I've now washed half of the floor. I think I'll take a short break and the dry it off. I daresay you're the one who washes the other half."

Barty was staring at his unused cleaning implements impassively.

"Well… I guess you could say that. Filch and his cat is of the devil. The one time when he hadn't left for his evening walk in the Forbidden Forest I had to revisit the department of the Forbidden books in the library. That lead to certain incidents, which lead to Dumbledore's office and couple of rumours from last autumn got some confirmation.", he recalled the events from last night, uninterested to think of them any more in depth and lifted himself back to sit on the sink table.

"It wasn't enough for them to have me supervised every time I step into the library – as if Prill already in her regular behavior wasn't enough – to take my wand and send a letter home, but Dumbledore wanted to send me here too. Which is why I certainly will not crawl down there even for a second.", he said, his tone leaving no room for interpretations of how much he meant it.

"Of course we can leave now – I can always say that the filthy half was your responsibility...", he stated calmly and more good-humoured than a moment ago.

"Who knows, maybe they'll make you wash the rest and also the girl's toilet floor...", he added, playing with a thought that a bunch of Sirius's fan girls ended up watching him like that.

While listening to Barty's story with undivided interest, Sirius decided to ask a question that had bothered him ever since Crouch had cast the blood boiling curse on him on the stairs. Asking wouldn't cost a thing, no matter if it was answered or not. Yeah, except maybe your life when it was Crouch.

But he didn't get the chance to ask, when Crouch announced his opinion about the work. How shocking that he had no intentions what-so-ever to do his part. What kind of a self-centered idiot, what kind of an ego had to be, to just sit there doing nothing? Sirius knew that his ego wasn't exactly one of the smallest but at least he drew a line somewhere! Crouch didn't seem able to humble himself into doing something unpleasent even the little he himself had. And even though he was awfully tempted to get up and try pushing Crouch's head into the soap water and keep it there until he agreed to do his part, Sirius decided to stick to his original way. He smiled cheerfully even though irritation was again taking over, got on his knees, grabbed the brush and started scrubbing the second half.

"I have a question", he said as politely as possible, after managing to swallow most of his rage. Barty cast a suspicious look at him but listened anyway.

"It's obvious you're interested in the darker side of magic – even to a degree that you're here because of it and apparently cut classes for it and are sneaking around by night... I mean, you put a lot of time and trouble and make sacrifices for it, so... Why? Are you just one of those who worships and studies dark arts to be scary when in fact really fears the dark magic and studies it to lessen the fear, but without success? Or are you going for some personal thing, alone, do you have some ambitious goal on the dark side? Or is your dream to become a Death Eater or something? You wish someday to be the most important and dearest servant crawling at Voldemort's feet?"

Only then Barty himself realized just how much he had sacrifised for what he had first intended to be just a side project type of a study. Only the teachers had paid attention to how one certain student had been missing so often.

"They're fascinating, for one ", he stated calmly, recalling how meeting Bellatrix Lestrange at the beginning of the semester had him interested in them enough to check the library. Though things might be different had he known the woman was a Death Eater. For some reason he mentioned that reason first, though it hadn't been the basic motive, nor the one that drove him.

Sirius's assumptions were somewhat understandable, seeing to how Lord Voldemort terrorized out there, pleased that Britain seemed to be full of weak, ambitious or messed up wizards and witches. But his reasons for joining would not be any of those.

"I really can't imagine anything less interesting than serving some lunatic", he stated, clear disgust in his voice.

"Uh-huh", Sirius said then a little all-knowingly, "well, if not a Death Eater, what then? Perhaps you plan to become as 'great' as uncle Voldy or even a rival? Your goals seem to be so high, I wouldn't be surprised. Yeah, or maybe you're not really as interested in dark arts as you claim, but want just shock, be rebelious, to show off something to your father. To get noticed in his eyes? I don't know how things work in a normal family but I've heard that can happen. You say you're not going to serve lunatics but in reality you're so afraid of Voldemort, that it's just a mask with which you fear a little less. That's what all the admirer's of dark arts are. Cowards."

Junior had the hardest time to keep a serious face thinking of himself as a criminal of Voldemort's degree. That his father would've fought Voldemort for years and years and then something like that would be revealed was just too ironic to be taken seriously.

Sirius's next theory were so far the most accurate. He had started the studies purely because they did fascinate him – something about it's extremeness and power which normal magic did not have. But in the deepest he didn't even consider using his studies wrong. And the reason why he had taken his studies to unnecessary depths, was to gain his father's attention – though he really realized it only when Dumbledore's letter left the castle. It had been more subconscious – almost all of his attention seeking efforts had been subconsciously done for quite a while now. This wasn't the direction he wanted to go. Above all he hadn't wanted everything to be revelead – for less would've been enough.

"Hmm…", he only voiced in a sad tone, unwilling to answer for real.

He let out a frustrated sigh when Sirius had got back to the coward matters. It was so old, and really didn't have anything to do with him. One of his childhood heroes had been the auror Alastor Moody. And he genuinely lived by a few of his own mottos, such as 'Rules are for breaking', 'I wouldn't want to shirk a responsibility but it wasn't me' (of course naturally only to taunt people) and above all 'If there wasn't some huge downside to doing something stupid – it wouldn't be worth doing it'. He might even be missing a healthy fear all in all.

"What of you then. Your family surely includes Death Eaters, if not even your mother one of them... Maybe you hate them so much because in the deepest you're just like them... Maybe you're so utter coward when it comes to dark arts that you can't admit it to even yourself...", he spoke calmly, staring at the roof.

Being called a coward himself was too much for Sirius. Rather Filth, rather Shame of flesh, he didn't care if Crouch accused his mother of being a Death Eater, but accusations of being a coward and implying that he had Death Eater genes, went too far. Typically to his quick-tempered nature, Sirius reacted by splashing with both hands, hot water at Crouch's direction, trying to hit his face. With an ugly grin Barty dried off his face, glaring at Sirius, who begun to rave again.

"Look into the mirror, moron, before you accuse others to be cowards! Already the fact that you're not doing anything here, shows that you're the one and self-centered too. "Fascinating dark arts", heavens, what a joke! It's exactly the cowards that think them fascinating, it's the other type of people who rather wash toilet floors than talk that kind of crap!"

Crouch didn't have the chance to think anything of it when Sirius again, threw in the mother.

"If I was you I'd rather be helping and being there for my sick mother instead of pulling that kind of shit!"

For the first time in all those months, Barty Jr. felt pure remorse. While he had known this all along, it was only when someone said it out loud, that it really sunk in.

"Yehyeh, if I had a mother! Whatever even is the matter with your mother? A killing kind of depression, which happened to start around your birth, maybe?", Sirius went on and then carried on washing the floor.

"AND WHEN IS THE ACREAGE OF THIS FUCKING FLOOR GOING TO END? OR IS THIS SOME INFINITE FLOOR, SOME TRICK THAT LET'S SEE HOW LONG THAT BLACK'S GOING TO LAST THERE WITH THAT IDIOT CROUCH? I THINK I KNOW NOW WHAT IT'S LIKE IN HELL!" Mr. Black had lost it. Again.

Barty oozed so strong and utter hatred and loathing that he couldn't bring himself to speak no matter how much he tried to. No words in any language seemed strong and fitting enough.

"Use two scrubbing-brushes at once - you'll find it out sooner!", he yelled while picking up his own scrubbing-brush and throwing it at Sirius's head, as forcefully as he possibly could.

Sirius had known fully well that he had crossed the line of being reasonable, taking the topic of Crouch's mother up in such a manner. The Marauder had been prepared to get yelling and insulting language and so was utterly surprised the Crouch said nothing. He hadn't been prepared for violence and thus didn't get the chance to move aside, but only enough so that the brush didn't hit his face with full force but only it's corner hit his brow, but it hurt like hell. Sirius groaned of the sudden pain, let go of his brush and wiped his bleeding brow. It was bleeding just enough for his hate to increase into an unendurable degree. Sadistic and wide smile rose on Junior's face, though he'd have enjoyed much more if he had hit closer to an eye.

After getting over the shock of pain, Sirius got up, still holding the bleeding brow with his other hand. Almost exploding of anger, Sirius approached Crouch, who was prepared to move aside but nothing happened, though for sure Sirius wanted nothing more than to hit.

Crouch watched Sirius turn around and walk back to his bucket. He didn't expect him to carry on working, so he kept an eye, trying to reckon the next move. But a second too late he realized what was going to happen and thus had time only to get down from the table. Sirius lifted the bucket and with quite a force, threw all of it's hot water all over Crouch, then standing there waiting for a counterblow, prepared for anything.

Crouch had the time to cover his eyes but the water's temperature was enough to make the incident unpleasent. He threw an icy look at Black but because his anger had lessened by the wound he had managed to cause, he didn't go for anything. Though, being a wizard, a thought of reaching his wand did automatically cross his mind. He wouldn't have thrown any dark magic but magic all in all was so full of possibilities. But obviously, muggle stuff was good enough for this kind of purpose too.

Sirius's words were still holding him as he snatched a towel from his bucket and dried off his hair and face..

"If you ever want to get out of here, I recommend using the water to what it's meant for...", he said in chilly tone, but agony was on top of all his mixed feelings.

"And we might even be already out of here if you had shut the fuck up and scrubbed the floor since you chose to do it in the first place..."

Standing there, watching the soaking wet Crouch, Sirius wasn't even sure anymore why he'd done it. Was it the scrubbing-brush hitting his brow? Or frustration that he wasn't able to hit him? Or anger about washing the floor all in all? Maybe all of those, and then again it didn't really matter... what's done is done. And he couldn't deny it had eased his state of mind. Too bad there had went yet another bucket of water and it had to be filled for the third time just because he lacked self-control in order to keep it for washing the floor. He walked to the sinks and opened the tap again.

"Oh really. How nice that you advice me in my work. And here I thought, that this would get done faster, if you too did something. Well, I guess I've been wrong all along, so if you don't mind, I shall get back to my crawling on all fours now."

Sirius picked up the bucket and carried it to the spot where he had left.

"If you want to entertain yourself, look into the mirror", the marauder said as he got on his knees again.

"I mean, it would be very hard to say which one is more scandalous sight – the son of the mighty Black family on his knees scrubbing a floor and bleeding, or the offspring of the mighty Crouch family in detention soaked in dirty water."

The marauder smiled to himself and hoped it would be the last spot of the floor...

"Besides, I didn't exactly mean everything that I just said. But you can't deny you deserved that last one I pulled.", Siriius then said, when couldn't bear anymore, knowing that before the flying scrubbing-brush, he had went too far.

"Yeah, whatever", Barty commented, tired and frustrated, but in amicable and acknowledging tone, and moved back to sit on the sink table again. At this point however he actually considered helping but in the end chose not to, for the floor was anyway almost done.

Finally a total silence fell between them. It might have felt distracting after all that had happened, had they not been so deep in their thoughts.

Soon enough Sirius broke it with, for once completely neutral comment.

"This is really hurting all over, this sadistic, sick slavery", he said, stretching himself, not knowing why he'd said it. Why'd he open up to Crouch about something like that? You might think he's talking normally about normal stuff to him. Scary.

"May end up visiting the hospital wing after this. If my wrists are this sore now, tomorrow I probably can't hold even a wand. Maybe it was McGonigall's goal, I don't know."

The Marauder grabbed the brush, his knees hurting worse than ever.

"Speaking of pains", he then started, quietly and carefully, "what's with your mother?"

For once it didn't stir any irritation in Junior, and not even much agony, most likely for his tired state of mind.

"Blood cancer. They knew about it much earlier but told me only three years ago when mom's condition got really bad, and they couldn't come up with excuses. She's been doing better in Mungo than at home.", he explained in a rather monotonous tone as he sat there eyes closed. "There she's always near professional help, if and when she gets an unexplainable period of fever, prolonged infection or difficulties in breathing. Or pains in stomach or bones, which leads this to the only minimal hope, that one of our relatives might have the right type of bone marrow, though even if did, the longer it takes to find, the less likely it saves anything". he gave a through answer for it had been asked twice, and as if some working pains were anything bad. While he spoke his thoughts wandered back to his 9-year old self, as he had tried to figure out why dad was so much more there in every way and why mom was acting so weird, but never once had he thought of his mother dying.

"Wouldn't be the first time if I considered dropping out of school to be with her more but they won't let me. Something about having to think of my own future and I guess one doesn't get back here so easily if dropped out...", he went on, mostly to himself.

The words stirred some kind of empathy in Sirius, again, but also agony for his own family. How easy would it be if you could live like there was no family at all. It would be so great to be able to live carelessly, not caring at all about family members or one's relationship with them. Those, who didn't know Sirius, might even think that he did just that, but that was as far from the truth as Pulto was from the sun. No one could dismiss not being cared about.

"Ömm... Sorry to hear that", Sirius then said sincerely, nearly as much to himself as Crouch had just spoken – somewhat comical that they spoke to each others through the floor, the roof or anything else but directly to each others, except when yelling at each other.

Barty remained sílent for a moment, staring at the roof, until asked out of curiosity.

"Where do you live in the summer, if not with your folks?"

Sirius had forgotten the pain in his arms and legs, but when Crouch changed the topic to him, he awoke to the situation in a different way and continued washing the floor, less deep in his thoughts.

"Huh? What? Me? Oh... I spend my summers at James's home. He's got a good family, who feel more like parents to me than anyone else really. I just wouldn't want to be their burden anymore even though they don't mind. I'd just need money to get my own house, and that I don't have because my mother has had it so that I won't inherit a thing. But I have an uncle, who might give or borrow a little money, so I'd get on my feet. I'm just not sure if I want to take the money, knowing that will get my uncle end up right away to my mother's killing list.."

How pathetic that sounded to Sirius. He saw it best to just carry on the work – it was almost done anyway.

For Junior, going home was a matter of course, so natural that it felt weird to think of having to (or getting to) live at a friend's house, practically as their family member. The more he thought of it the less he wanted to hear about Sirius's mother, who truly sounded insane.

"I'd say it's no use to even try drying it. It's 'a little' more wet than some probably thought it would be...", he stated, when noticed that Sirius was almost done.

"Yeah, if someone complains about a too wet floor, it is because of too few towels and not me, ok?" Sirius asked and wondered how was he able to ask it so appropriately. Barty only nodded as a response. Crouch shirking from the entire thing didn't even bother Sirius much – not now that it could not be helped anymore. Plus, the joy of getting out was much stronger than irritation of having to do all the work all by himself. It was also weird that this detention had brought something good too. Sirius may have learnt something of it after all, accidentally but still. Some sense had been knocked into him after all, and quite literally too.

"Actually, it seems even the walls got washed...", Barty said as he fetched the brush he'd thrown, and dropped it amongst the towels in his bucket.

"Exactly", Sirius said, holding his wrists, "ended up washing the walls, and you, while at it. The nerve of the one who bothers to complain about wet floors when I've washed everything from the floor to the walls. Out of the goodness of my heart, of course."

"You still think you'd do this six times?", Barty asked, leaning on the wall, his other hand in his jeans pocket, brushing his hair off his eyes with the other.

He surely wasn't going to be in a similiar detention again even if they tried to put him in it. It was somewhat sarcastic that while trying to shirk in every possible way, he still had ended up doing what Dumbledore had wanted him to – thinking of what he'd done.

"Well… maybe I could do this for another six times, but it might be slightly slower process for the last five times I'd be unconscious.."

Just a little more, just a little more... Could it be, that the floor was washed, really, was this hell over now? It was. Sirius looked around with a mixture of joy and fear, maybe he'd missed some spot. No, the entire floor was clean. Thank Heavens. Sirius didn't have the strength to even place the brush back into the bucket or get up. He dragged himself on his knees, next to a wall and leaned on it, stretched his legs and closed his eyes.

"Never again."

Barty was never going to confess being lazy shirker all through but he had to give Sirius credit.

"Yeah, I bet. But you really seem respectably persistent to get through a sadistic slavery...", he said looking from relieved Sirius to the clean floor.

"Even though it is irrational that you agreed to do this. The floor is in the same condition in couple of days as it was when we came", he added, grinning to himself and picked up his bucket.

"If someone asks, it was for always trying new things…"

"Indeed", Barty agreed with a strange smile.

"Sure we have dried off the floor real well…", Sirius grinned as he soaked all the towels in water.

"And I'd rather spend a life in Azkaban than do this ever again", Sirius finally announced as the two of them walked out the door into the silent, dark hallway. Sirius managed to sound so convincing that Junior was glad for a moment that Dumbledore hadn't agreed with his suggestion about the substitute to sending the letter, though of course there was never any options – the beloved headmaster cared about his students enough. He cared about it even more than Berty Junior himself, for the boy was sure Azkaban was never an option for him, as long as his father headed the Law Enforcment in the Ministry of Magic. The boys approached the Gryffindor tower, not understanding just how good and well their life still was.

* * *

**A/N **His Hogwarts House - Gryffindor? Unlikely, maybe, but still possible.

Oh yeah, there probably isn't a department in St. Mungo like that at least not for non-magical illness but in this story's world there is. I needed a place where people can talk and act freely without having to think of the wizarding secrecy. And I did research leukemia back when I decided that's what Mrs. Crouch would have and I'm pretty sure it is slightly possible that people suffering of it even in that serious level, live that long - but I'm not an expert in medical things so I'm not sure. But if all else fail, let's just pretend the purely magical blood makes the difference. **A/N**


	2. 2: Remember Me This Way

**A/N** I write with a thought that hard times and emotional blows change people, thus Senior just like Junior, might have been essentially different person before all that is described in the Goblet of Fire book. **A/N**

* * *

**Use well the days**

Chapter 2

Two weeks later, Barty Junior was dragging his trunk along the streets of London, as the day grew dimmer. The street lamps all over were lighting up. The trunk was so heavy, he didn't wish to drag it along for longer than necessary but still visiting his mother was more tempting than going home first. There wouldn't be anyone but Winky anyway and empty house had troubled him every year coming home, since he'd started Hogwarts. And yet this time, more unpleasent option was if it wasn't empty.A thought of his father at home before sundown felt unreal but miracles do happen, they say. So he wasn't surpised to find himself at Mungo's door, after wandering around for half an hour and being cursed after occasionally, he supposed he'd almost got hit by cars several times.

Leaving his trunk behind the registration desk, he walked on the familiar hallway towards the familiar room, where he met not so familiar sight.

"What's going on?", he stated suspiciously from the doorway, remarking his mother in the dim room, packing her bags, though she seemed not better than before, at least by a first glance.

"Honey!", his mother yelled, recognizing the familiar voice, and threw her hands in the air as if she was surprised and had already made her way to the door and closed her son into a warm embrace.

"Hey…", Junior breathed as he returned the embrace.

"My condition has been so stable and relatively good for this spring that I'm coming home, at least for part of the summer", mother announced happily, taking a good look at her child as if he'd grown a whole lot since the Christmas vacation – seeing to his age it of course was possible but likely the long time apart added numerous centtimetres. Junior on his behalf looked at his mother, agreed with her seeming to feel better than earlier; her long, blonde hair taken care of and she didn't look so pale, though still was unnaturally thin – and in her blue eyes there was ever growing exhaustion.

"Today?", he asked, mostly delighted, as he looked at the half packed bags.

"Tomorrow. And what was that? You sounded somewhat as if you didn't want me home", morher answered, after picking up a slightly unwilling tone in his voice.

"None sense", Junior's snort was as careless as he was able to feel, while a genuine smile still found it's place on his face."Besides, you just made sure my summer can't be completely ruined", he added before thinking.

"Why would it be?", his mother wondered before he had the time to change the subject.

"I don't know", he answered quickly, adding the word 'yet' in his mind. "I just felt like it when leaving the school." His being and tone had grown gloomy familiarly enough, for the mother to think it had to do simply with their family situation, so she didn't ask any more questions, though had hoped the boy would've got used to it better than that For the same reason she didn't wonder her son's next question even though he wasn't looking at her but went through the closets, in case something seemed to get forgotten.

"When was dad last here?"

"Last week – it was the only time this spring", she answered as she continued packing.

"What?!", Junior noticed himself reacting unusually strongly, including the force with which he slammed the closet door shut.

"What?", his mother echoed, but much more calmly, though now worried. Of course the matter bothered her too, otherwise she wouldn't have mentioned it, and now she regretted mentioning it, but it shouldn't have been that surprising news.

"No, it's … Why, I mean how- That's not normal even knowing him. Did he say anything?", Junior explained, going for a normal tone.

"The war is getting worse by the year, you know that. And also how dedicated he is to our society", she stated,, her voice unbelievably serene.

"Yeah yeah, how about to his own family!", Junior complained with his usual pathos, and for a moment a disturbing image crossed his mind, about his father probably selling off his wife and child if it helped him to defeat Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

"And he didn't say anything special. Should he have?", his mother said, asking the question in as neutral tone as possible even though frankly.

Junior sighed, frustrated, but over it could be heard a relief. Regardless of the frustration being caused by two reasons, for one that he hadn't managed to act as if nothing special bothered him. He was way too worried about his mother's strength and Sirius's words hadn't helped at all, not to mention that she apparently had spent months here without her family. He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the closet door with almost empty eyes, wanting to fight off any emotion at all, to feel peaceful for one blessed second.

"Though he did seem unusually stressed, but I reckoned it was something about work. But now you too. Forgive me, but I know you both so well, that I have to ask; What have you done now?"

Someone else might have got offended for such absolutely drawn conclusion, but Junior didn't bother to even act offended, he just snorted with amusement. Even if she hadn't known them too well – in such situation the matter usually was something about him. It was by now downright a way of life, that he did something stupid – if not to gain his father's attention, then at least to annoy him.

"Nothing he couldn't make better", he answered truthfully, not looking at his mother.

"Are you sure?"

"Has there ever been something he wouldn't have? I mean, when it comes to me", Junior threw half rhetorical question, finally lifting his eyes to look at his mother's face, on which worried wrinkles were slowly disappearing as she answered almost immediately.

"Well, no."

Even though it was true, they knew they both were thinking the same thing. Barty senior, almost never managed to really take care of his son's problems, at least not for good, because he seldom focused on them for long enough, not to mention understood, that the basic problem was in him and not the son. Both, mother and son still were holding on to a hope that someday it might change.

"I bet you've been awfully lonely here", Junior stated his thoughts on his mother's latest months. "I hate him!", he announced in a bitter tone. slamming the top box of a drawer shut, for words did not ease his feeling. He could yet somehow bear even if the man forgot his existence while he was at Hogwarts but that he hadn't even visited his dying wife more often than once in five months... His mother sat on the bed too, right beside him.

"Junior, listen to me", she spoke in calming tone, taking his hand firmly but gently, yet succeeding to gain only part of her child's attention. Junior had long ago built some walls around him which only his father could pull down, if happened to notice them. But the boy did turn his darkened eyes to his mother.

"I have made many friends here. Of course I would like to see your father more, but I'm not so lonely", she spoke sincerely, which helped Junior's state of mind a little, but not enough to show.

"Believe me, I know how you feel. But you don't hate him. At least not really", she said, sounding somewhat know-it-all, which would've annoyed Junior much less, if she hadn't been right. He didn't say anything, just lowered his eyes to look at his hand still in his mother's hand. It was ironic how much more he had always been after his father, while the bond to his mother seemed much stronger.

"But I want to", he said, deciding to open up a bit more.

"He loves his job, and you, more than me. These days, apparently, his job the most."

You could bearly hear him but he said his words very clearly, and it was enough, for his mother had meant every word; she knew.

"You know that's not true." In his current state of mind, Junior didn't pick up her reminding tone, but took the words as a usual, ignorant word mongering.

"Do I", he commented. From a disrespectful tone and the way he snatched his hand away, it was clear he'd have liked to say something else, something completely different.

The mother smiled a sad smile. She'd do anything to have the two most important men in her life to truly find each other – for they too, clearly wanted the same thing. At the most desperate moments she had given a thought to if there was some kind of a spell to do it but forsaken the idea, for it wouldn't be genuine.

"In times like these the good memories just get easily buried under the bad ones", she spoke her wisdoms softly, and was reminded of something herself.

"Besides, you wouldn't remember all that counts anyway, even if you tried", she said as she dug her wallet from one of the bags. "Do you?"

Leaning on a wall, Junior reluctantly took a photo her mother had been holding out to him. As he studied it, his expression melted into genuinely thoughtful face.

At a quick look, the photo charmed to move, was an obvious snapshot, taken in the morning, as the hairs of the two wizards in it were all messy and the cozily clothed man was walking somewhere and n his arms was a 5-year old boy, looking happy and wearing a blue dragon-patterned pyjamas, holding a toothbrush in his hand. The first in any way special detail he took notice was his father, who'd been kissing the boy's brow just before happened to look at the camera. Junior himself apparently had been more on top of the situation as he wasn't posing nicely, but was sticking out his tongue at the camera. Junior remembered only two things; how he had loved that pyjamas, which he now thought horrible, and how his mother had every single time got frustrated with useless efforts in getting him to pose nicely in any photos – until finally given up, and if it was about some more official photo shooting, any time when possible, she'd taken the head of the family along – with his father Junior had never managed to be difficult for too long, whereas he had never taken his mother as any kind of an authority figure, until he'd turned 9. Still he looked at the photo for a good while and did remark something unusual about it seeing to how ordinary situation it was of. Something in the way in which his father had been holding him – over-protectively seeing to his age and the fact that they were home. Also something in the man's eyes seemed like he'd just realized something he thought important.

"Well, whatever should I remember", Junior questioned dryly, trying to hold on to his angry state of mind, while memories unrelated to the photo and the photo in question did fight a little smile on his face.

"You disappeared", his mother stated, sounding very serious.

Junior's gaze moved from the photo to his mother and back again several times before he spoke.

"…What?"

"You sure you're not confused? We're not living in your favorite soap opera.", he then stated unintentionally implying that his mother might be delusional.

"Listen up, smart-mouth, I do remember if my child has been lost for a whole day! Especially if that child was an impossible, spirited 5-year old.", his mother sounded as if she'd been reliving the most horrifying moments of her life. Which caused Junior to both believe and grow more interested.

"Okay, okay. Well, what, did I run away or why did it take all day? Or did dad ditch me for disturbing his working?", he asked, and it was his turn to try calm his mother down, but he couldn't help a stinging tone in the last line.

"Oh, great. Best fast-forward the earlier years. We can't begin like this. Barty wasn't there when you were born, but believe even for the sake of your entertainment, that he wanted and tried to be.", the mother began, after noticing the boy's attitude.

_Yeah sure_, was Junior's first, sceptical thought, regardless of his mother's convinging tone. Still he pondered what had kept his father from being there, so in the deepest at least hoping that the man hadn't deliberately missed his birth.

"We were very young when we had you and his ambition was in the least as strong as it is now, but he wanted to be with you too. I took care of you during the days and he by night."

"Did he ever sleep?", Junior laughed quietly at a thought of his father with a baby and a feeding bottle in the middle of the night, especially as he was sure the man had used that waking time too, for working more than talking to a baby. He couldn't help to subconsciously twist or dismiss the last part of his mother's words.

"Slept when you did, and you were really quite an easy baby, eve if no one believed it later. You were unusually a handfull only after you learnt to walk. Which reminds me that he was there to see your first steps", the mother spoke, nostalgia written all over her face and she'd forgotten what she was originally meaning to tell.

"Really? Had he been fired from work? Or was it a sunday? Or was he so ill that he couldn't make it out the door?", Junior showered her with questions, unintentionally in a taunting tone.

"Are you listening to even half of what I'm saying?", the mother commented, clearly about to give up telling anything. Junior had already been taken in enough and found so many points to pick on his father that he didn't want her to stop.

"Sorry, sorry, go on…", he said quickly, fingering the photo, which existence he had forgotten, and found a better sitting position on the bed.

"…Sunday-", the mother admited, and dismissing Junior's loud 'HA' exclamation, she went on.

"-As you grew and didn't need so much nightly caring, he became more like one of those weekend Dads, for he usually left to work and came home when you were already asleep."

"How shocking…", Junior stated again in a certain tone, which the storyteller decided to dismiss.

"But he was always with you during holidays and vacations. And whether you slept or not, he never forgot to kiss you good-night. He's away a lot, you may turn left where he would've turned right, and you two argue about what you should or should not do with your life. But you are your father's son – you'd do anything to achieve something that you feel is needed or right thing to do. You just have plans, which he doesn't understand. I believe you simply have a communication problem. He _loves_ you, Junior. That is something I have never once doubted. Only his set of values is in disorder, usually. But basically, in the deepest, they are in the correct order. That photo is a reminder of that."

"Eh… okay…?", was for a change all Junior could say. It was hard to taunt after such a speech, especially when knowing that sometimes an outsider can see things more clearly. Especially when that someone knew the others as well as a mother would know her son and her husband. Junior's eyes found the photo again and his thoughts were busier than ever. Now that he thought of it, his father had always shown his love well, in every way that counted, but it's power had always essentially diminished for an increasing number of arguments and for the man too often put his work ahead of the family quality time. Too many times he had been disappointed as a child even though the father had always tried to make up for it. Junior couldn't help his inner uncertainty of which was more important to his father, his job or his family. As if the man loved him mostly only when he found the time and thus no matter how genuinely and obviously loved, it didn't carry too far. Wasn't love in the deepest, making sacrifices, and those, in Junior's view, the man had made much, much more for his work and the society than for his family. The influence of his mother's speach was almost immediately beginning to diminish. Maybe after all they were her wishful thinking.

"Do you think I'm as ambitious or power-hungry as he?", he then asked after a moment of silence. He had become to seriously think of what Sirius had said and why he himself did all that he'd done. If it after all had more to it than just a subconscious cry for attention.

"Not quite, but I know that overall you are. Remember, I've watched you two for almost 14 years. I think you're suppressing yours for you've grown to see what it can do to your family, which you too, hold in much higher value. If I recall correctly, you even said something like that yourself when you were still in a primary school. And as I said, your father feels the same, even though it doesn't always seem like that", the mother analyzed.

"Well… what happened?", Junior asked, lifting the photo in his hand, looking at it with absent-minded eyes.

"I couldn't find you anywhere the morning before that one, and no one had seen you. The muggle police of course began the search immedaitely, especially after I told them couple of facts about your typical day, while they anyway take a disappearance of a child that small very seriously. Also your father returned home half an hour from receiving my letter and didn't even consider going back to work."

"He lied", Junior insisted. "Or stayed only so you wouldn't have to be al-"

"I didn't see your father for the whole day after that and only because he was looking for you all around the town. I was supposed to stay home in case someone brought you back. What selfish motive you think he had for not letting the police do the search and stay home waiting and work away?"

"How do you know he didn't-", Junior started stubbornly, after having to think for a few secnds.

"The man who brought you home had been helping him most of the time."

Junior sighed, giving up. "Who?"

"Alastor Moody. You might have been found before mid-day if at least he was at work – he picked you up at the Ministry of Magic later that evening. Most of the time you'd been under the invisibility cloak and no one else had known you whenever you were seen, and you wouldn't tell your name, so not to be sent home. For the same reason you had been a stow-away in the car which your father drove in the morning. You'd fallen asleep in the car, which is why you ended up inside the Ministry only after he had already left. According to you, you had wanted to see what your daddy thought to be so much fun that you got to see him only two days a week. "

Junior couldn't hold back a smile anymore. The case had worked out perfectly.

"I bet he was pissed off", he grinned maliciously.

"Indeed. But not for the reasons you think", the mother stated, reminding that this story had a point.

"You'd been supposedly lost in a million city even by dark. It was more essential, than anything related to work, and I know this because he didn't catch up on his work for the spent day and it wasn't me who wished you'd sleep between us that night. And that morning he didn't hurry getting to work, or any other morning that followed, unless he really had to. He no more let the precious moment pass by."

Junior didn't have to say anything, for the reason was written all over his face. Dad had after all cared more about him than about his work but learnt to appreciate him only after thinking he had lost him. The extreme always seems to make an impression. And now that he thought of it, his father had been home quite a lot during the parts of his childhood which he was able to recall at all. And so maybe the past few years had twisted his memory more or less. The story did ease his mind about going home but many things still kept his being dark. What mom should do then, in order for her husband to visit her more often? Perhaps things had changed throughout the years – even with him. He hadn't been any sweet little boy, easily to be manipulated – actually very far from that. Though, no one had said that he ever was any of that except a boy, little and maybe sweet from time to time. He didn't say anything out loud. If having faith in the past made his mother happy, so be it. Besides, he was grateful that she'd had the patience and interest to share this hope with him, even though he had been a bit difficult.

"Mum…", he tried to say normally but ended up only whispering.

"What am I going to do without you?", he added quietly but even so his voice broke. He stared at the phoro in his hand, which for the moment looked like taken from another life or of strangers.

"But I won't be gone, even when you can't see me anymore. You are never all alone", she spoke softly, and the exhaustion in her eyes had been replaced with pure love. To Junior, it was the most encouraging moment all night, whereas he also found in himself a bit stronger trust in his father not being completely deaf to his cries. He was ready to go home.

* * *

**A/N** Yeah I first planned the disappearance case having been more dramatic in events, as in that something really had happened to the child while he was gone, but then decided it serves the story better this way. Sometimes what might have happened but didn't, affects you stronger than the fears having come true, yet it's also easier to push back and "forget", in time. **A/N**


	3. 3: I Still Need You

**A/N **I meant this chapter to be much longer with some more action weighted content. But I think it works better this way, for this specific story.

**_My Junior's looks come from the actor Jamie Bell and Senior's from the director Thomas Vinterberg:_**  
watch?v=VbIGFoabs84 (My fan video about BCJ and his father, to Red's song 'Breathe Into Me'.) **A/N**

* * *

**Use well the days**

Chapter 3

Junior was finally really on his way home, on his home street, and deep in his thoughts, having realized so many things he hadn't even known were there to see. He was still feeling more anxious than hopeful – his thoughts kept coming around to the moment when he would have to answer the question. Whereas everyone else would try to dig into the reasons why, his father was more soon to start from the other end of the path of seeing to that something would never happen again and he wasn't sure how genuinely the man was thinking of the other end. And that usually lead them into a fight instead of understanding of each others. Of course - he had to admit - at that point it was often partly his own fault too as he had the tendency to strike defensive and stubborn and in the worst cases, disrespectful. What did mother say? A communication problem. Sirius, and especially his mother, had at least made him see some important things that he'd try to remember. Maybe it would be different this time around. Maybe even father would do better now that he hadn't had to deal with it almost right away.

Junior gave a deep, hopeful sigh, as he reached the familiar yard and big, dark house, except for the light in the living room window downstairs.

He pushed through the front door into the dark entrance hall, planning to head straight upstairs in hopes to get to sleep. He was tired of course but more essentially he wanted to avoid dealing with any of the issues in as emotional state of mind as he was at the moment.

"Young master! Young master, Your mother's coming home!", was the first thing he heard and was immediately met by a happy house elf, waving her hands, running to him in the hallway, which lead into the rest of the house.

"Hey, Winks. Yeah, I know that. It's great news", Junior said softly, giving her a genuine smile. "I bet you've been quite lonely all year."

Winky gave a nodd, her big round eyes filled with joy of having not only the boy back home but the family together for the first time in years. They had always treated her kindly.

"Well, you're not the only one…", he sighed, talking to himself mostly, and no more smiling, while moving up the stairs at the inner end of the hallway. Winky helped him with the trunk by making it float in the air just enough.

"Thanks. I'm gonna unpack and hit the sack and forget everything I've ever known", he stated. "Or you do the unpacking part, please."

"I does, but Winky can't let young master sleep. Master Barty said-"

"Oh, don't bother. I know that too", Junior cut her off, slightly annoyed. Of course he didn't know what had been said but this was the more accurate case of which he had mentioned to Sirius. Winky was like a dog – belonged to the whole family but basically had only one master. And so his word did not weight if it was against his father's. And he was sure his father enjoyed it, and Winky's unconditional obedience, very much, for every possible reason.

"Well, then just unpack it. Much appreciated", he stated in slightly more polite tone, gesturing with his hand towards his room, where Winky vanished with a snap of her fingers, taking the trunk with her.

"Into the living-room, son", he heard his father say as the man passed by, before he himself got to take another step forward.

"Can't this wait till morning?", he protested as he turned to look but Barty had already disappeared into the room mentioned, and Junior was not taking another step back down either.

"No", was the simple and determined answer coming from the living-room.

"Why not?", Junior's voice grew more and more annoyed and he still didn't move.

"Because I said so", wasn't the answer he needed but that's what he got and from the tone he knew the man meant just that. Junior clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath. It's not as if everyone hadn't sometimes been victims of that infuriating parental cliché or that it was the first time to him either. And obviously the man took the news very, very seriously. And no wonder, seeing to how much he despised people who practiced the Dark Arts. Even so Junior didn't believe his father despised him, but surely the news had driven the man up the walls. So there would be no use marching up the stairs and refuse to co-operate in any way for now, such choice would only lead to unnecessary drama. But it was still tempting, very tempting after that answer. After all he was tired, a teenager, and he didn't know what the hell to think of his father after all that mother had said and made him realize. He forced a fake smile on his face for a short moment, just to gain the strength to get moving to the right direction.

"Ok, before you start any lecture, may I please ask you a question first?", he asked as he entered the large but cozy living-room. He'd found it surprisingly effortless to sound polite in every way.

"Of course", his father said in neutral tone while he was looking for something in the glass door cabinet next to a window.

"Why haven't you visited mom but only once this year?", Junior asked, now even more surprised how well he'd managed to keep an accusing tone out of it. But happy to have, as his purpose wasn't to verbally attack or even really get an answer at the moment, which is why he didn't even try to fully interpret the look in his father's eyes as the man had turned his face to look at him. It was enough for him to see that the question had affected. So, even though part of the answer did anger Junior himself a bit, he let it pass without a word.

"It's not as essential as some other things now", Barty began, looking away again, finally finding what he was looking for. "And I'm sure your mother would agree, if she read this."

He held up a letter in his hand, a letter that used to be closed with the Hogwarts signet, looking at his son, clearly thinking of nothing but the letter. Junior gave a frustrated sigh, turning away with a hand gesture of agreement. But it was eating him up inside that he had to agree, for to him it was always more or less about the parents, so it was less essential than anything else, only to them.

"Do _you_ know what this says?", Barty asked while Junior fell into an arm chair nearest to the doorway and gave a shrug.

"Not really… I only know what I discussed with Dumbledore.", he said quietly.

"Well, I don't even know where to begin", Barty stated, sounding frustrated and tense. Of course he knew exactly where to begin but the thing was, he didn't want to. The one thing that made him try dealing with this immediately was the one thing he feared to find out. Junior knew this even without looking at him, for there was something about the way he felt him staring at him, while he himself rather stared at the fireplace, even though there wasn't a fire in it.

"Good!" he said cheerfully. "Good night then!" he added as he got up and headed to the door.

"Sit. Down!" Barty said immediately, his tone commanding enough, not to mention his raised voice, making clear that there was no way this would wait till morning.

"Studying the Dark Arts is fine if you're going to be an auror or something", he began as Junior found himself back in the armchair, oozing anxiousness. There was a certain touch in the words 'or something' which the father still tried to fight away in order to keep it together.

"I acknowledge I may have set a questionable example with my line against Voldemort's followers", he was still able to effortlessly say the name unlike so many others. He couldn't even afford to be afraid of the very person he tried to help in defeating. It would be only after a huge personal loss he would suffer to the Dark Lord, when he'd lose that strength and come to refer to him as He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. The very thought of the slightest possibility of it was making him weak inside, which is why he was constantly now trying to find a way to speak without literally saying it.

"But you're old enough to understand the difference between being an auror fighting in a war or an auror student, and being a kid safe at Hogwarts", he continued so calmly that the not-so-calm Junior began to reconsider if it had been a good thing after all, that the man had had so much time to think about these things. Always better though than the man dealing with these things in a posisble shock and fury - it wouldn't have been the first time he'd almost suffered an unfair punishment because of that - so far though, the man had managed to remember calm down and look at things from all sides. Junior just sat there, appearing tense and nodded as a response. That was so true that he hadn't even considered using it as an excuse, should he end up making any.

"Cutting classes and digging into the forbidden books", Barty listed two of the less essentially wrong parts about his son's studies, looking rather disappointed, which Junior noticed as he glanced up at his father, who had walked to and standing next to him. Still holding the letter as if he couldn't force himself to think of it's content without it, and staring down at him. It wasn't really surprising Junior - his father knew him just about throughly; and so knew to expect such behavior, but also that he had the ambition in him and so had some expectations. "Those I can still somehow throw on the long, long list of all the shit you've ever pulled to gain my attention or to annoy me, but", Barty continued, growing tense again, and Junior had never found the word 'but' as uncomfortable as in that moment.

"Did you, or did you not, practice those arts on other students?"

A deep silence fell into the room for Junior was desperately trying to come up with something more to say than just a yes or no even though nothing else had been asked.

"ANSWER ME!" Barty yelled soon enough though the silence was answer enough, but he wanted to hear the boy say it. Junior, who had startled, meant to shout back but it came out as a frail voice in distress.

"Yes but it's not what you think!"

Barty drew a deep breath as he walked around the chair, attempting to sit down on another. "_What_ curses were they?" he asked, trying to handle the truth he just had the displeasure to hear.

"Not the unforgivable, if and when that's what your delusions are telling you", Junior answered quietly, feeling more and more anxious even though the worst part of this discussion seemed to be in the past.

"Delusional?" his father snapped, wishing he was. "Better not be them because I couldn't even think of a punishment fitting enough even for this!" he added, reminding Junior of why he hadn't wanted everything to be revealed and himself of what else he had considered to do, should he deal with something like this. As much as he hated it, he had considered taking Junior with him when he was to visit Azkaban later in the summer. But he had forsaken the idea almost immediately, while he hadn't even seriously considered it. He would not have his child anywhere near those monsters. Those things that were the utmost torment and death come to flesh. He didn't even know whose sick mind had come up with the idea of having those creatures "work" for the Ministry – who could really trust and think of being able to control something so utterly evil? He was looking at the boy now, who appeared no more a child but hardly a man either, and this remark helped him to pay attention to just how lost and lonely Junior looked sitting there, sunk into his armchair. All Barty could think of was that he didn't know what he'd do if they had been the unforgivable ones. As aware of the potential meaning of the current revelations as he was – that the kid might become a dark wizard - no force on earth could make him believe his own flesh and blood would do anything so bad that he'd have no choice but to send him to Azkaban or that he'd do so in any case. He loved that brat. Love was the only emotion that made him realize just how unspeakable place that prison actually was.

"Alright. If it's not what I think", he then said drawing yet another deep breath to fully calm down. "What is it?" he asked as he sat down on an armchair next to Junior's, crouching a bit forward. He never took his eyes off Junior but his gaze had grown more kind, his voice more gentle. He was happy to believe it wasn't what he'd thought, and so, more than open to hear what was going on. It was also one reason why he'd let himself "forget" about this all, in time, whereas unpleasent things had the tendency to be 'forgotten' anyway. By this change of atmosphere, Junior was brought back from his distressed thoughts. With sad and serious expression, he looked at his father from the corner of his eye. He was still sunk deep in the chair, resting his hands on his stomach and playing with his fingers nervously. He tried to decide if he should tell the whole truth or just half of it. To consider which way would he suffer less yet get the message through.

"I… basically it was, all of it, for your attention as always. I know I went too far but I guess I thought also that… since you disapprove almost all along anyway, I might as well do something you'd have truly reason to disap-"

"Oh you can't be serious!" Barty stated in genuine disbelief and slammed the letter on the table. He understood the point but this was ridiculous. Less extreme would've been more than enough, so it felt to him anyway.

"But the extreme always seems to make an impression", Junior stated and couldn't help a sneaky smile creeping on his face. "You do it all the time", he added, with a bite of sarcasm in his voice. A moment of silence prolonged, for Barty was trying to deal with the realization just how much like him his son in the end was – the very thing his wife had analyzed earlier. What he _had_ always seen, was that because of his wife having worshipped the boy so that the kid had not grown to see and respect her as a parent but look at her as an utter equal or even worse - Junior had always been much more a daddy's boy the same he himself had been so proud to have a son. Somehow he'd thought that would carry their relationship even if he hadn't always worked on it as well as he could have. The fact that Junior had begun to rebel and pull all kinds of more or less stupid stunts long before his teenage years and he'd been there to correct him, had very soon become rather a way of life than something to worry about – no doubt essentially due to the child's nature that had been spirited all along.

"Oh, you think that really funny, don't you?" he said with a mixture of menace and affection, frowning as he watched the smile on his son's face grow wider by the moment.

"Well, smile while you can because nothing, _nothing_ gives you the right to do what you've done", he stated sharply, everything in his voice and look saying he couldn't find anything even remotely amusing about it in a thousand lifetimes. And everything about the way he said it made Junior feel very nervous.

"You're coming with me to the Ministry tomorrow. I've made some arrangements there for you", Barty then stated, leaning back in his chair and crossed his arms. He'd become completely calm about the alarming situation. He now saw why it had happened and earlier that week he had thought of the next best thing to get the message through without introducing the boy to a place where he was never even willing to send him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Junior asked suspiciously, looking at him.

"You'll see." The answer had Junior smouldering with all kinds of negative feelings. Since when did he not have the right to know what was going to happen to him? What did the Ministry of Magic have to do with anything?

"And in the evenings this summer, you're going to catch up with what you missed during the semest-"

"Oh, come on! I did that at school!" Junior exclaimed an immediate protest to anything study-related during a summer vacation.

"I… copied… oh, _whatever_", he started to add at his father's questioning and slightly doubtful look. Sure, there was a reason why the classes weren't optional and he had cut them for an unvalid reason but it didn't change the fact that he had caught up with some of the education in a more or less good way, and didn't like the idea of wasting the summer evenings on any more of it.

"And I'm gonna see to that you do", Barty finished not really even listening to Junior's reasoning. Junior had to bite his tongue so not to throw a few well selected insults related to his father's ambition.

"And you're going to do that, when? At 2AM? You know, just because you can go on 24/7 without eating or sleeping or remembering that you have a family, doesn't mean that I'll live by that", he complained. Holding on to his mother's words got harder by the moment yet they were also the reason why he didn't go on reacting in his usual way.

"I'm _not_ that bad", Barty commented calmly, slightly shaking his head.

"Well, yeah, according to you and mom, you're not - but I'm not so sure of it! I think you used to be so much cooler. But now all you have is work and your stupis ambition! Ever since I first left to Hogwarts and you became all high and mighty, gosh, I can't even imagine how it would be if you actually made it all the way to the top like they say you might!" Junior found himself shedding his feelings instead of throwing more over-killing, untrue sarcasm in the air, and also that he couldn't stop. Even so he couldn't bring himself to talk about what bothered him the most - he just hoped his latest stunt was enough.

"And you most certainly will! Congratulations, paps, you've shown perfectly clear you love strangers - the whole society, and your career, more than us! You know, by 'us' I mean also the ill woman at St. Mungo, who I _think_ you just _might_ know!" he went on with increasing bitterness in his voice, his eyes growing darker and he was now openly looking at his father, who was listening with genuine interest. He too had expected another kind of reaction and was able to stand the slightly disrespectful tone for he felt he in a way deserved at least some of that been said.

"Now if that was all, I'll leave you to your precious work. I hope you brought enough of it at home – it would be so sad if you had nothing to do or think about after 4AM! I'd like to go to bed now and be happy that I still have the chance to see _my dying mother_ this summer!" he finished, unintentionally raising his voice at the last parts, during which he had got up and was now turning to storm all the way upstairs. He didn't make it further than two steps though, for his father had predicted this move and got up the same time, grabbed his arm, gently but firmly, and made him sit down again.

"Did it ever cross your mind that _you_ are part of the whole society too and so is your mother", he said, looking down at Junior, still holding his arm, sure of that the boy wasn't listening as much as willing to leave the room. Junior wasn't even looking at him really, just glared at him.

"I'm trying to make this world a little bit better place for _you_ to lead your life in." There was all the seriousness in the world, in his tone. He acknowledged he was highly ambitious, but his working hours were much more essentially motivated simply by his will to free the wizarding world and driven by his will to have his own family safe.

For a moment, Junior's glare melted into a stubborn teenage attitude of how nothing a parent says can make sense, and how they know nothing of what's best for their child, but then he just looked away again. Subconsciously he always knew that and still thought of his father as some sort of a hero. But he was not in a place to look at it clearly, nor could he help his feelings.

"And as for your mother", Barty continued in the same soft and firm tone, crouching down in front of Junior and let go of him, laying his hand on the arm of the chair, when it seemed he had his attention again. "I didn't _forget_ about her. I'm losing her too, you know. I _love_ her too", he said, looking at Junior but happy that the boy wasn't looking back at him. This had always been his problem. He was at ease with openly showing his love and feelings in all the ways that counted - with one crucial exception; when he was hurting – especially if it was bad. And that he had been doing a hell of a lot the past few years. And he couldn't help that it affected the way he presented himself to the world or treated others, including those he loved. At the moment he however came to see he should've been stronger for the sake of his child. But it was too easy to drown everything to a work he loved, especially when the boy spent most of the year at Hogwarts and wasn't around to be with.

"I wrote to her every week in the least. I didn't forget", he told with as neutral voice as he could, looking out the window into the twilight. He had a feeling that the woman they spoke of had something more to do with this newly found connection with their son, other than just being the topic of the discussion. But he also feared that this wouldn't last, that too important things would get forgotten. Even Junior's well implied message of his lack of parental support. The hurt was too deep, the boy was still going to Hogwarts many times, and they just usually didn't find the same page at the same time.

"Yeah, that's nice, Dad…", Junior sighed, sounding tired. "But we don't need to read about your great achievements for us in The Daily Prophet. That's for the rest of the society. We need to _see_ you. We need you around.", he said, for the first time with no attitude in his voice but warmth, as sadness grew in his darkened eyes. He stared over his father's shoulder at a family portrait that probably hadn't been looked at for years, not even by him. At the moment he wasn't sure which bothered him the most; dad not being around enough lately or dad not approving most of the things he really wanted to do as if there were only a few right ways to meet the adult life and a future career. But he was happy to have at least one of the points made clear and so the disapproval and lack of support didn't feel so bad for now. In the back of his mind he even considered really trying to make his father proud with the upcoming OWLs. Sure he had wanted to make him proud always, but earlier, in his own way – not with the ambition he had inherited.

"I'll be more home this summer", Barty said, trying to sound as convincing as he could, for he meant it but doubted if Junior believed it, which is why he didn't bother to add the words 'I promise'. He was fully aware how many times in their life he had broken a promise, especially to his son.

"Yeah, because mom's coming home", Junior stated and couldn't help a slight bitterness creeping back into his voice. He was still looking at the same photo on the fireplace with mixed feelings.

"And for you", Barty added correctively, and to make sure he wasn't misunderstood, he gently turned his son's face to look in his eyes.

"Believe it or not, but I did notice that you didn't come home for the winter break even though I couldn't keep one. But I missed you", he said softly. Junior regarded the sentiment with a small, genuine smile.

"I hope that Study had nothing to do with you staying at school and I think it's safe to say not. I daresay I still know you well enough… but just to make sure", his father then stated, nodding towards the letter sitting on the table near them. He could not dismiss the possibility of having missed something throughout th past three years, which he had been lost in his work, more than digging into his son's world. And now that he thought of it, Junior had been talking to him less and less.

"No, Dad, I had plans with my friends", Junior said with a little grin as he looked at the letter. He indeed wasn't that interested in the Dark Arts, as Sirius had assumed. And his thoughts did not revolve around his father all the time - even if he had pretty much worshipped the man in his early years, regardless of all the disappointments.

"If I… if I study good and well for June, can I drop the catching up for the rest of the summer?" he asked, sincerely meaning it as a some kind of a promise, and looked back at his father.

"You keep that promise, and yes, you can", Barty agreed with a smile. For some reason he still remembered Junior's first reaction on him informing about the matter and if nothing else, he did realize the kid needed to rest before the O.W.L semester.

A silence fell into the room, which Barty didn't even consider to break, as Junior seemed to be struggling with saying something.

"Do you still love me?" Junior finally asked, hardly louder than a whisper, but said the words very clearly. His stared at his own hands again. He had never felt so stupid and yet afraid to ask something. Barty looked at him with a frown of concern. He was sure he'd heard right, only because he knew how well the boy knew his feelings about those who practice the Dark Arts, but still.

"Junior, there is _nothing_ you can do to make me stop loving you", he said with all the seriousness in the world, so Junior didn't have to lift his eyes to believe it. "I don't blame you if you don't believe me, seeing to the past few years, but I tell you anyway; my life would've been a whole lot emptier without you." Barty added sincerely.

"Then why were you working when I was born?"

"Who said that?" Barty raised his eyebrows in genuine wonder.

"Mom- Well, no one, actually..." Junior stated, realizing she hadn't even said that. He had added that part in his own head, while he hadn't been listening with his full attention anyway.

"Good. Because it's not true", Barty stated. "You were born almost three weeks too early. I was just far away then and made it to the hospital onlu an hour late."

"Can we do something together this summer? The three of us?" Junior asked after deciding to believe the sincerety written all over the man's face. He found himself looking into his father's eyes, not because he was talking to him, but because he had missed them.

"We most certainly will", Barty answered. He found himself missing especially all those holidays with his family, watching his son grow up, and making memories with him. All the days before the war.

"Now, off to bed – we have an early start tomorrow", he said as he got up, and ran his hand through Junior's hair, who seemed quite peaceful regardless of the fact he still didn't know what was the point of him going to Ministry. Since sleep was all he had wanted all along anyway, he didn't bother to try and find out again, but he lazily stood up from the chair and made his way out of the room.

"Good night then", he remembered to say from the doorway, without stopping or looking back.

"'Night..." Barty said back, already a little absent-mindedly, staring at the letter for which he had stressed about for the past two weeks. He rubbed his brow with his fingertips as if having a sudden head ache. Everything that had seemed so clear a moment ago was now becoming a horrible mess in his head. Too much mixed emotion was coming together with too many realizations of which none had been purely pleasant, if at all. He wasn't even sure if either of his loved ones saw how alone and helpless he too felt, or how hard it was for him to deal with while he also felt he needed to be the strong one. The love of his life slowly dying, and the son he dearly loved… apparently taking after him in more ways than he had even realized, always looked up to him, and yet he'd never felt like he had actually understood the boy, who still was more eager to go by very different path than he would have chosen.

Junior was happy that one of his issues was now addressed to, but he stopped for a moment, half way up the stairs, and considered remiding his father about his more essential issue. But he never turned around.

* * *

**Author's notes:**  
EARLY YEARS: ?page=mybartyjr#earlyyears  
DEVOTION AS A DEATH ?page=mybartyjr#asaDE  
SCHOOLING BEFORE HOGWARTS: ?page=mybartyjr#schooling


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